


Rutherford, Party of 4

by AlleiraDayne



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alistair Smut, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Anal Sex, Bisexual Cullen Rutherford, Bottom Cullen Rutherford, Cullen Rutherford Smut, Dirty Jokes, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Foursome, Foursome - F/F/M/M, Gay Sex, Groping, M/M, Modern Thedas, Multi, Oral Sex, POV Cullen Rutherford, Pegging, Polyamory, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 18:44:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7585723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleiraDayne/pseuds/AlleiraDayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair and Amodisia welcome Cullen and Amallia into their new home by cooking dinner for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rutherford, Party of 4

**Author's Note:**

  * For [felandaris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/felandaris/gifts).



> For Felandaris, from her prompt in my 250+ Follower Giveaway on Tumblr.

A layer of paperwork littered the large, ornate desk in the center of the office, not a single spot of the cherry wood surface visible. Cullen stared with a blank face, head titled to the side as if looking at it from that angle would help him determine where to start. Freshly built, there was so much work the house yet needed; the deck design lay unfinished in a stack of large draft papers to his left, and to his right, the proposals for work on an in-ground pool lay unsigned.

Sitting down, he sighed as he rolled his chair to the desk, settling in for a long Saturday afternoon of _more_ work. His spirits lifted the moment he heard a shuffle up the stairs, and a second later, Amallia rounded the banister carrying a tray baring lunch.

Her smile had a way of easing the tension from his shoulders and his heart skipped a beat as he watched the sway of her hips as she crossed the room. She set the tray on the empty shelf behind him, taking one plate and handing it over. A finely crafted turkey sandwich, a small serving of tuna salad, and a few slices of pineapple and cantaloupe covered the plate. He turned to her with a sheepish smile as he spoke.

“To what do I owe the momentous occasion?”

She thought a moment, clear blue eyes scanning the room. They brightened with an idea, and she handed him a glass of water as she hefted hers in salute. “To a mostly finished house.”

Cullen raised his in kind and agreed. “A _mostly_ finished house, although I don’t see the light at the end of the tunnel.” His glare returned to the white surface of his cherry wood desk.

“We’ll get there,” she muttered through a bite of her sandwich. “It’ll take time.”

When his phone buzzed, Cullen handed the plate and glass back to his wife, then dug his phone from his pocket. The screen showed _Theirin_ in bright white letters, the smiling faces of his best friends, Alistair and Amodisia, staring back at him. With a swipe of his thumb, he answered.

“You have a way of interrupting a moment unlike anybody I know, Alistair.”

Alistair laughed his typical sarcastic laugh as he responded. “Oh, I do hope I’ve interrupted something incredibly serious. Or salacious. I demand details.”

“Not a chance, Ali. What’s up?” he asked with a laugh.

“Sia and I would like to cook for you tonight. Welcome you into your new home,” Alistair explained.

Cullen gave Amallia a sidelong look, and her face mirrored his. Suspicious as always of Alistair’s practical jokes, he thought the man might have something up his sleeve.

“You want to cook here?” Cullen asked.

Alistair snorted another laugh. “Yes, _there_. How does five sound? We’ll bring all the food, and you supply the wine?”

Half of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “That sounds perfect,” Cullen replied, but a reservation tempered his enthusiasm.

“Cullen,” Alistair sang, picking up on his concern. “Are you sure? I don’t mean to impose, it just seemed like a nice thing to do for our _bestest_ friends. Isn’t that what friends do?”

Cullen’s feet slipped back into his sandals as he stood, motioning for Amallia to follow him with their food. “Ali, I’d love for you and Sia to have dinner with us. And I know Amallia would love it as well.” He gave her a glance over his shoulder, finding her nodding her head in vigorous agreement.

Alistair’s amused hum hinted at far more than he let on. “Excellent. Anything _eeeeelse_ Amallia would love?”

“ _Ali_ ,” he warned, another cautious look over his shoulder, hoping Amallia had not heard. Her brow knit in confusion, shaking her head as Cullen rounded the bannister and headed down the stairs.

Alistair’s annoyed scoff couldn’t be missed. “Oh, alright, I suppose I can let you get back to whatever it was you two were _doing_ when I interrupted. See you at five?”

Cullen let the dig at his private life go. “Five is good,” he sighed. “Bye, Ali.”

“Bye.”

* * *

“Why are they always late? Were they allowed to be late when he was governor?”

Cullen sat back on his bar stool and looked up to find Amallia pacing across the kitchen from one counter to the other. Dark marble, white cabinets, and stainless steel appliances surrounded them, pristine, unused, and yet Amallia scowled at it all.

“I’m sure they’ll be here any minute,” he assured. “Relax.”

She huffed an impatient breath, brow furrowed and lips pouting. “We’ll be eating late if they take much longer.”

“Come here,” he demanded as he rounded the bar and held out a hand. A reluctant shuffle of her feet carried her to him and her hand slipped into his palm. Skin on skin, the rush of contact fluttered in his chest. A hint of a smile spread across his lips as he drew her close, his free hand at the small of her back.

“What’s got you on edge?” he asked.

Her heavy sigh expanded her chest against his, her breath warm on his neck. “I’m … nervous. We designed this house. I just hope they like it.”

“Of all the people to judge,” he began, “you know Ali and Sia would not do that to us,” he comforted as he drew her in closer and he marveled at the feel of her – not just her body, but _her_ , all of her – against him. “Besides, the house is gorgeous. I think we’ve done an amazing job.”

“But it’s so …” she trailed off, nose buried in the crook of her neck. “Empty.”

Cullen considered the kitchen, dining room, and living room, the open floor plan creating a cavernous space. The walls were bare and there was a distinct lack of decor. But none of that mattered, least of all to Alistair and Amodisia. “Give it a few more months, pup. We’ve been here a couple weeks. We’ll find things to add.”

“Right,” she muttered, “Things …”

Something was weighing on her, something heavier than usual, but as Cullen opened his mouth to ask, the doorbell rang and Amallia parted from him, smile bright, and pulled him along. Commander met them at the door, silent glare prepared for what lay beyond.

When the door opened, Duncan shuffled between the two of them, passing Commander with a perfunctory sniff as she went in search of a new bed. Commander paid her no mind, eyes glued to Alistair as he handed over two brimming grocery bags.

“I don’t have anything for you,” Alistair sighed as he gave the Mabari a scratch behind the ears. “Sorry, pup.”

Commander sat back on his haunches with a flick of his tongue, patient as ever, and Cullen made for the kitchen as he said, “He knows you’ve got biscuits in your pocket.”

“And I know that he knows that,” Alistair replied as he followed them, Commander in tow. “He’ll get them, eventually. He knows that, too.”

Commander’s irritated chuff did not go unheard, and Alistair gave him a look that sent the Mabari in search of his companion. Satisfied, he turned to help Amallia unload groceries to the counter.

“I’m so sorry we’re late,” Amodisia began, “The grocery store took longer than I thought it would.”

“No worries,” Cullen replied, “Although I think Amallia was ready to send out a search party.”

Amallia scoffed an irritated sound as she rolled her eyes, and Alistair laughed his ridiculous cackle, but Amodisia’s look of frustration lingered.

With the bags emptied, Cullen opened two bottles of wine he had set out earlier, pouring them each a glass. “It’s not a problem, Sia. Truly, everything will be fine. Do you need any help starting dinner?”

“No,” she replied, a hand smoothing out her dress as she took her glass. “Alistair and I will take care of everything, you two go relax, I’m sure it’s been a busy week.”

“Thank you, Sia, we appreciate it,” Amallia said as she led Cullen to the dining room once more.

At the table, Cullen seated himself beside his wife, sliding his chair close. Her smile parted as she brought her glass to her lips, a slow sip drawing in the dark red liquid. For whatever reason, watching her drink – pink lips against the glass, the bob of her throat as she swallowed – sparked a fire in his belly. And he let it build, spreading to his toes and racing up his spine. The glass pulled from her mouth and her tongue consumed any flavor left behind on her lips. With the glass returned to the table, Cullen slipped a hand over her thigh, grasping tight and fingers close to her center.

She squirmed, unable to remain still beneath his touch, and Cullen hummed a laugh as she tried to slide away. He snatched at the bottom of the chair and jerked it close, so close that he no longer needed to lean and he could breathe in her scent. His hand found her hair, fingers diving in at the nape of her neck, and then pulled her close for a deep kiss.

“Get a room.”

“No,” Amallia shot back as Alistair strode to the table to stand beside Cullen.

“In that case, let me join you,” he suggested, nonplussed, and his lips puckered in an obnoxious mimic of their kissing.

Cullen stood with a grunt, grasping his wine glass and stalking off for the kitchen as he side-stepped the other man. “Maker’s breath, Alistair, not _now_.”

“Sia needs your help anyway,” Alistair called after him as he crossed the living room for the kitchen. There he found Amodisia opening and shutting cupboards as she searched for something. It took a moment for Cullen to find his voice. All thought fled the moment he saw her bend over as she peered into a low cabinet.

He cleared his throat and Amodisia squeaked in surprise as she stood up, straightening her soft cotton dress once more. He’d not noticed it before, but the neck line revealed a hint of her ample breasts, and she seemed somewhat uncomfortable by it. Strange, considering the dresses she used to wear as the governor’s wife, Cullen had seen her in all manner of plunging necklines – not that he was complaining – so why she was uncomfortable now was a bit of a mystery.

He stuttered as he spoke, eyes returning to her pink face. “What are you looking for?”

She curled a dark brown lock of hair behind her ear, revealing her strong jaw line. “A … a pot. Just need to warm up the meat. Made it earlier …”

Cullen stood before her in two strides, towering over her as he set his wine glass down on the counter behind her. She froze, blocking the cabinet he needed, and he hesitated. When Amodisia failed to move, he placed a gentle hand on her hip and shifted her to his left.

Impossible. Did such an innocent touch draw a _shiver_ from her? Or was that his wild imagination getting the better of him, filling in the blanks where he was too afraid to speak his mind? The second seemed to stretch on forever in silence until he cleared his throat once more.

“You were close,” he offered as he opened the cabinet she had been searching.

Her breathless sigh fanned the flame hotter in the pit of his stomach. “Close?” she asked as she stepped near.

He withdrew a medium pot and set it on the stove top. When he turned back to Amodisia, her bright green eyes were wide as saucers and she was so _close._ Swallowing a thick gulp of air, he muttered, “You almost found it on your own.”

“Oh,” she replied, still breathing rapidly, the rise and fall of her breasts drawing his eyes . “The pot.” She paused, a deep breath swelling her chest. “Right.”

The moment lingered too long again, Cullen growing uncomfortably warm as his best friend’s wife stared up at him, chest still heaving. He should ask her, talk to her, tell her how he felt, how her husband felt. And yet, every fiber in his being screamed to get out, to walk out of the kitchen before he made a fool of himself.

“I’ll … go get Ali,” he stuttered as he grabbed his wine glass, turned on his heel, and left. A distinct scoff of frustration followed him to the living room as he crossed it for the dining room.

There he found Alistair and Amallia engaged in hushed conversation, a discussion he couldn’t make out that clipped short as he took a seat across from them.

“What did she need?” Alistair asked with an impish grin. “You were in there a while.”

Yes, a while, Amodisia captivating him, just as Amallia had when they first met, and as Alistair had all those years ago. The warring thoughts quieted at the sound of the other man’s voice. “A pot. She needs your help again.” Without a word, Alistair stood and made for the kitchen.

Strong fingers found his hands, drawing them across the table. “Now you’re the one that looks nervous.”

He was. It wasn’t every day that you contemplated quite the things he had on his mind. In fact, he thought, most people never would. It could ruin their friendships, their relationships. It could absolutely destroy them.

Or it could be incredible. Amazing. But his doubt, his reserved nature tempered that hope, stamped it down to little else than an idea. A fantasy.

“I’m fine. Little nervous, sure,” he trailed off.

Her special smile spread across her lips, melting away his tension again as it so often did. “That’s okay. Me too.”

* * *

An hour later of trading kitchen posts, their meal was nearly ready. Amallia sat across from Cullen, choosing to sit beside Alistair, and Amodisia sat beside him on his right. He noticed the difference only when it was too late.

“Cullen, is something wrong?” Amallia asked.

The room was a roiling inferno, sweat soaking through his t-shirt as Cullen looked at the woman beside him with a glare. Dinner, Alistair had suggested. They wanted to cook for them, he’d said. Welcome them in to their new home and break in their beautiful new dining room table.

Alistair had lied.

Rather, Alistair’s ulterior motive came to fruition when, in the middle of eating salad, Cullen felt a light touch fumble over his thigh and squeeze with such need, there could be no mistaking Amodisia’s intent.

His knee smacked the bottom of the table as he jumped, a small squeak of excitement escaping pursed lips. Cullen glared at Alistair across the table and Amodisia snatched back her hand as if scalded. In a way, it may have been. Alistair had been hinting at – Maker’s breath – at _things_ , suggesting _ideas_ through innuendo since they’d arrived. And the _looks_ he gave him. Coy smirks and heavily lidded gazes of longing were enough to make a man weak in the knees.

“That was my foot,” Cullen growled, “ _Ali_.”

At least Alistair had the decency to play along. Sort of. “Sorry, it’s been ages since I’ve played footsie with anyone, I may be a bit rough about it. But you don’t mind, right? When I’m rough?”

That was the alcohol talking. Alistair had a way of irritating him and arousing him at the same time, doubly so when the man was somewhat inebriated. And he did it on purpose, did it to drive him mad with impatient lust. He knew him too well.

Amodisia snorted with laughter. “He plays footsie with me all the time, don’t let him fool you.”

“I do _not_!” her husband retorted, unable to maintain a straight face.

A timer rang out from the kitchen and Cullen stood with Amodisia, but she waved him off. “Mal can help me. _Right_ , Mal?”

Amodisia pushed back from her chair and stood, following Amallia to the kitchen as she said, “Play nice, boys,” before disappearing around the corner.

Alistair swung his chair around the end of the table, his heavy grasp finding Cullen’s thigh and he sighed in frustration. He leaned towards the other man, his own hand reaching out for the other’s leg to grip, to steady his spinning head. Breathless, Cullen asked, “Ali, what are you doing?”

“Teasing you,” he whispered, lips on his ear and breath hot on his skin. “Maybe giving you a hint of what I have in store for you later.”

His hands were rough, all strength and no dexterity. Cullen wondered if he was that rough with Amodisia. Maybe she enjoyed it that way, fingers bruising her skin and groping with incessant need. The thought filled his head, Alistair’s wife atop him as she rode him and he grasped her thick thighs so hard he left red crescent marks in her skin.

“What are you thinking about?” Alistair asked as his hand brushed against his stiffened length. “ _Oh_.”

Shit. How embarrassing, a raging hard-on in the middle of an evening with friends, as if he were fourteen all over again. Cullen gave him a sidelong glare, unsure of what to say, words failing him as Alistair continued to grope him. Gasping, he managed to say, “Ali, I nee—need to … can I ask you something?”

Alistair frowned as his hand paused, relaxing its grip. “You can ask me anything, Cullen, you know that.”

Maker, there was no turning back now. The truth would serve him best, would serve them _all_ best. Get it out in the open, talk, like adults, and clear the air.

With a deep breath, Cullen spoke. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. And I completely understand if you’re not … into the idea. It’s strange, but we’ve already come this far, so I assumed one more step wouldn’t be much, but every time I think to ask, I lose the will to continue.”

Alistair glared at him. “That was a lot of words without asking me a question.”

“I know, I’m sorry, this is terrifying and exciting all at the same time. I love all three of you so much, it’s killing me,” he rambled.

It was as if a thousand stars lit up in his eyes, understanding sinking in. Alistair grinned his typical toothy grin as he said, “Tonight?”

“Probably,” Cullen groaned as he gripped his thighs just above the knee in an effort to steady himself.

“Ask Sia,” Alistair suggested. “I think you’ll find her response quite … pleasing.”

“What?”

* * *

“So did he ask you yet?” Amodisia prodded.

Amallia laughed as she removed the roast from the oven. “I don’t think so. Every time I’ve nearly got it out of him, he buttons up like a clam, terrified I’ll think him some sort of deviant.”

Her friend laughed in kind, finding the situation humorous as she. “It seems like such an obvious progression of our relationships. I can’t wait to see the look on his face when we tell him we’ve all been thinking about this for months.”

Amallia tore at the meat in the pot, shredding it to pieces. “Speaking of … _that_. Have you put any thought into how you feel about … you know? Sharing.”

The dark-haired woman nodded as she spooned potatoes and carrots into a bowl from a second pot on the stove. “I have and I am comfortable with it, given some boundaries. I assume you are, too. I’ve spoken to Ali about it, and I’ll admit, he surprised me with the desire to watch.”

She dropped her fork into the pot, fingers slipping from the juice. At least, that was what she convinced herself had happened as she took a moment to recover. With the fork returned to her hand, she smiled as she asked, “He wants to watch? What about me?”

Amodisia laughed a cackling sound that had Amallia in stitches, unable to continue managing the food. “Oh, trust me, Ali has plans for you. Some, I think, he has harbored for many, many years.”

“Now that is something I cannot know without using,” she said with a wicked grin. “He seems to be giving Cullen a … rather _hard_ time tonight. Mind if I fire back?”

Amodisia hefted the bowl of vegetables and started for the dining room. “By all means, love, teach the man a lesson.”

A wicked grin curled the corners of her lips as Amallia lifted the pot of meat and followed her friend to the dining room.

* * *

Hours later, the kitchen was a mess, the sink full of pots and pans and dishes. Cullen resigned to cleaning in the morning, returning to the dining room table to savor an after-dinner drink.

“That beef, Sia,” Alistair groaned as Cullen sat down. “I know I said we were going to cook together, but that meal turns out so much better when I don’t help.”

Amodisia laughed her girlish laughter, and Cullen’s difficulty in focusing on his drink returned in force. Between Alistair’s voice across the table and Amodisia’s pleasured laughter from his right, he thought he might explode. And then there was Amallia, sitting beside Alistair, her grin unmistakable. Terror gripped him like a vice – something was about to happen and he was positive it was nothing good.

He tried to get her attention, tried to signal to his wife without the others noticing. She was going to do something stupid, something she would regret. But then Alistair whimpered a soft sigh, not from the delicious drink before him, but from something else entirely.

He recovered in an instant but for the flush of his skin and his hooded gaze, though from the alcohol in his belly or something else, Cullen couldn’t tell. The moment passed before he could respond, and Amallia spoke, too quick for him to distract them.

“I bet a great many things are better when you don’t help,” she jested.

Alistair squirmed in his seat, unable to sit still. Drinking deeply from his glass to keep from speaking, all he managed was a nervous laugh through his nose.

“Like when you don’t help Cullen figure out what’s been troubling him. He’s been having a really _hard_ time, but he won’t tell me what’s got him sooo … hot and bothered,” she continued, simpering tone driving both men mad as she leaned over to whisper in Alistair’s ear.

And then the delicate, yet nervous touch of Amodisia’s hand returned to his thigh without warning, gliding over his shorts to grope. Cullen gasped, shock and arousal sucking the breath from his lungs as he startled. Unsure fingers wandered, clumsy beneath the table as she kept her eyes on Alistair’s face.

When Alistair leaned back in his chair with another moan, Cullen knew why. His eyes flicked across the table to his wife to find her staring at him, blazing blue eyes alight with lust.

“Mal,” he sighed, understanding settling in. “What are you doing?”

Her stare drifted to Amodisia’s, and the two women shared a look that betrayed them both. They _knew_. When Amodisia turned to him, he saw for the first time the eerie green glow of her lusty gaze.

“Did you truly believe you were the only one that felt this way?” she asked as she leaned in close.

No. And yes. Both. It wasn’t something you just thought of, something that just popped into your head on a sunny afternoon. There absolutely was a reason for it, for that desire, for that want, that _need_.

Everything happened in the span of a second. Amodisia’s lips brushed his ear as she spoke and her breasts met his arm, pressing closer as she leaned in. Fire radiated from her, scorching a path all across his body, consuming him. And then her hand cupped his erection, no trace remaining of the hesitation he felt a moment earlier.

“Sia,” he begged, “I … don’t know. _Maker’s breath_ , I …”

He looked across the table to find Amallia turning over her shoulder with a wicked smile, her back to him as she straddled Alistair’s lap. The sight of Alistair’s hands, his fingers biting into the supple curve of her backside melted the last of his concern.

He turned back to Amodisia, her smile identical to his wife’s as she stood and straddled his lap, dress rucking up to her hips. A flash of bright red underthings caught his eye before disappearing between them as she rolled her hips, grinding her core against his stiffened length.

As he grasped her backside and pulled her close, she leaned in, and Cullen met her halfway. Fingers slipped beneath the hem of her dress to find the bare skin of her ass, and he squeezed so hard that Amodisia squealed with pleasure. The firm swell of her breasts bored down upon his chest and her rolling hips became frantic thrusts, whimpering moans driving him mad. He needed her, had to know her, feel her, _taste_ her, lest he lose his mind. When another whimper fell from her lips, he swallowed the sound, his lips crashing down on hers as he wrapped his arms around her entire body.

 _Andraste, preserve me_.

Spice, she tasted like the sun, _like Alistair_ , and her muscles rippled in his embrace, writhing with every swipe of his tongue. Her fingers coiled in his hair, grasping and tugging, the sweet sting of pleasure drawing a growl from his throat. He could stay there all night, the woman in his lap having her way with him, but the thought fled when his eyes snapped open and he pulled apart from Amodisia; Amallia writhed in Alistair’s lap, one of his hands delving deep in her pants, the other holding up her shirt.

His face was buried between her beasts.

“Alistair!”

Amodisia jumped in his lap, shocked by his sudden outburst, and Amallia nearly leapt from Alistair’s seat.

“What?” Alistair asked, eyes wide with terror and lips a delicious shade of pink, swollen from sucking at Amallia’s flesh.

Cullen grinned as he squeezed Amodisia’s backside, pulling her closer and hiking her dress up to reveal her bare cheek. She squealed again, girlish giggle filling the room, and Alistair bit his bottom lip, unable to contain his pleasure at the sights and sounds of his wife.

When she quieted, he spoke to her. “Would the two of you like a tour of the house? We could show you the den. The office. The _bedroom_.”

Amallia caught on immediately as she righted her shirt. “Oh, that sounds like a wonderful idea,” she replied. “What do you think, Ali?”

Alistair’ pouted as he stared at Amallia’s covered chest. “I think the dining room is wonderful,” he muttered.

“Alistair!” Amodisia chided.

He stood up with a jump and set Amallia on her feet. “Yes, ma’am, my wife demands a tour,” he pronounced. “Lead the way, my dear, I am _dying_ to see the rest of your beautiful new home.”

His sarcasm drew Amallia’s grin to a suspicious smirk as she grasped him by the front of his shorts and lead him to the stairs, his face a lesson in shocked excitement. Cullen laughed a devious laugh, his friend’s face reflecting his own when Amallia did the same to him, dragging him to their bed to devour him. But Alistair was no prude; he would return every exquisite sensation Amallia gave him.

When Amodisia’s light touch on his cheek roused him, Cullen stood, setting her to her feet and following her to the stairs, a step behind Alistair. There, Amallia paused, unsure if they should go up or down.

“Would you like to see the den first?”

“Does the den have enough room for four people to … _you know,_ ” Alistair began as he looked to Amallia, but the inquisitive quirk of her brow caught him short. “Dance! I was hoping we could get some dancing in tonight,” he finished with a smirk towards his wife. The back of her hand darted out, quick as lightning as it smacked his ass. He mouthed a silent, “ow,” mocking her as he rubbed his backside as though it had hurt.

“You know,” Amallia began, “We could show you around _after_.”

“After …” Alistair drawled, elongating each sound and when Amallia didn’t respond, he continued. “After what? After … dessert?! We haven’t had dessert, yet! We brought cheesecake!”

Amallia headed upstairs with a roll of her eyes, tugging Alistair along by the hand, but he didn’t follow. She stopped as his weight pulled her back down a step and she turned to him with a stomp of a foot. “Well?”

“Well what? There’s cheesecake …” he huffed as he turned back for the kitchen with such a profound look of longing, Cullen thought he was being serious.

“Alistair.”

His name drew each of them back to Amallia standing on the second step as she lifted her shirt.

Alistair’s face was a foot from her bare chest, mouth falling open to gape. If Cullen thought he was blushing before, the ruddy color of Alistair’s face, neck, and chest proved him wrong. And he knew his own face was a match as Amodisia hummed with laughter. She side-stepped her husband and climbed the step beside Amallia.

A delicate hand brushed her midriff, and Alistair cursed while Cullen ran a nervous hand through his hair, but Amodisia ignored their sighs of longing. “Come, Mal. We’ll entertain ourselves since dessert seems to be more important,” she jested as Amallia righted her shirt with a sly smirk. When they turned up the stairs hand in hand, Cullen shoved past his best friend’s frozen figure, chasing after the women.

“Oh, fine!” Alistair scoffed. “Cheesecake _after_ then,” he groaned as he stomped up the stairs. “You still haven’t told me after _what_!” Amallia and Amodisia merely laughed, and Cullen grinned his ridiculous grin at Alistair’s typical smarm.

At the top of the stairs, Amallia lead them around the bannister and down the hall to the first door on the left. Grey so pale it may as well have been white covered the walls while the floors were a black wood, contrasting to widen the space. Their massive bed took up the wall opposite the large bay window, white, silver, and teal patterned comforter matching the sheer drapes.

Cullen took his time near the door as he watched Amallia show their guests about the room. The master bathroom connected off to the right, but neither Alistair nor Amodisia made an effort to investigate. No, quite the opposite, Amodisia pressed close to Cullen, bodies flush once more as her hands wrapped behind his neck and slipped into his hair.

Now or never, Cullen seized the moment with a desperate need to see his fantasy become a reality. He grasped Amodisia by the ass and hauled her up into his arms where her legs wrapped around his hips. The press of her body against his drew breath from his lungs in shallow pants as he sat on the edge of the bed and their lips met again in another hungry kiss.

Her fingers pried at the hem of his shirt, gathering the fabric to tug over his head. Exposed so, a bright red colored his cheeks and he bit his bottom lip; he wondered if Alistair ever felt so vulnerable as she ravished him with a simple look.

“He is a sight to behold,” she murmured and that raw exposed sensation rushed down his chest. “Aw, I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” she cooed as she leaned in close and a hand cupped his cheek. He couldn’t breath, felt nothing but her as she teased him, voice purring in his ears.

He’d meant to be soft, sensitive, but Amodisia was beyond that point. The hard shove at his chest surprised him, a soft grunt falling from his lips as he fell back to the bed. With a swift pull, she gathered the fabric of her dress and tore it over her head, revealing bright read thong and bra. On her knees, she edged her way up this shoulders, pausing to remove her underthings.

“Is this …” she muttered as she removed her thong, weight awkward on her knees. “I don’t even know what you want to do.”

Alistair’s muffled laugh drew Cullen’s attention to the foot of the bed. He found the man and Amallia half undressed, attempting to remove their clothing with clumsy haste and fervent, _wet_ kisses. Between them, he tried to speak, but Amallia kept interrupting him with her lips.

“I think you … you’ll find … _oh_ , Maker, Mal, slow down. Sia, Cullen’s oral skills are  _quite_ satisfactory, you are in _very_ capable hands,” he blurted, gasping as Amallia bit his bottom lip. “The man’s tongue is very skilled,” he added in another breathless sigh.

“He’s right,” Amallia agreed. “Although, you may want to hold on to something.”

Cullen wriggled between her legs, lowering himself on the bed until his head was between her thighs and hovering beneath the glistening lips of her center. Panting breaths rushed through his nose, the anticipation of tasting this woman driving him wild with want. His arms wrapped behind her thighs, hands grasping her hips and drawing her down, inch by inch, until her lips met his and her mouth parted but she made not a single sound.

If her kisses were the sun, then her quim was the moon, so smooth and soft he could hardly think of anything tasting quite like her. He moaned into her, fingers biting into her flesh as he pulled her down hard onto his face, his nose rubbing against the bundle of nerves at her apex.

Alistair groaned louder, and though Cullen could no longer see them with Amodisia’s thick thighs consuming most of his vision, he could imagine the face Alistair wore. He heard little else aside from the soft, wet sounds coming from his mouth against her core, tongue lapping and lips sucking as he tasted her. His eyes fluttered shut, reeling with the new taste of the woman above him, and he forced himself to concentrate, to preserve his arousal lest he release far too soon.

Amallia’s deft fingers were unmistakable as they pried at his waist. Shorts undone, she pulled them away, then unceremoniously stripped him of his boxer briefs. Completely naked, the cool air in the bedroom prickled his skin, a wave of gooseflesh covering his entire body.

He heard the drawer pull open beside the bed and Cullen came up for air, looking over Amodisia’s hip to find Amallia handing Alistair a condom. Both of them had taken the time to finish undressing, eager to join their friends, but Amodisia groaned with impatient pleasure and begged him to keep going.

The bed sagged as Amallia straddled him, setting another condom on the pillow and easing her way up until she was flush with Amodisia’s back. She writhed with pleasure as he returned to her flesh, soft moans and whimpers the only sounds he heard. Her quim ran down his chin, coated his lips and flowed over his tongue as he pleasured her. And then her spine curved, arching with heightened arousal; Cullen paused, looking between her legs to find two of Amallia’s fingers buried in her cunt.

The other hand wrapped up to cup a breast, kneading the heavy flesh, and Amodisia cried out in overwhelming pleasure. When Cullen returned to her, his lips sealed around the swollen sensitive bud, tongue working slow, firm circles, and Amallia’s fingers continued to stroke, gaining speed as she whispered in the other woman’s ear.

“Yes, come for me, Sia,” she begged. “Come on his face. I want to see it on him.”

Cullen would have held his own whimpering sigh at bay had it not been for Alistair. Amallia’s words, ever eloquent, were enough to set his cock twitching, but then Alistair was on the bed, lifting his legs and grasping their lengths together. The stiff heat of the other man’s cock against his own ripped the moan from his chest, entire body shuddering under his touch, and Alistair echoed his excitement.

“Ready?” he breathed and Cullen could only agree with a muffled, “Mhm,” into Amodisia’s flesh.

His fingers parted him, delving between his cheeks, slick with lubricant. Soft, teasing circles eased his muscles, and once relaxed, Alistair’s fingers penetrated him, one after the other. Cullen grunted his arousal against Amodisia’s core, unable to contain the amazing sensation any longer.

And then Amodisia’s panting, staccato breaths drew his attention upward, Alistair’s fingers withdrawing from him. He worked furiously, sucking in rhythm with Amallia’s thrusting fingers, rushing Amodisia to her release.

There was a certain pleasure Cullen took from seeing Amallia writhe with pleasure, come undone because of him. But Amodisia’s release, mere inches away, was because of _them_ , not just him. He and Amallia gave her that rush, that amazing release, and as she whimpered with grunts of frustration, Cullen knew she had but a few seconds left until she knew it in full.

Her grip tightened on his hair, pulling him against her center, hard as she rolled her hips for more, more pleasure, more of them. They obliged, Cullen licking and sucking harder and Amallia thrusting as fast as she could until Amodisia convulsed, once, twice, then a gasping moan, high and long, burst from her chest. As Amallia’s fingers withdrew, the warm flow of her orgasm ran over his chin, his tongue darting out to catch any that remained, lips sealing around hers once more. She cried out in shock as he sucked her clean, lascivious wet slurps echoing through the room.

After a moment of riding out the last of her climax, she sighed as she spoke. “You weren’t kidding,” she huffed, “Maker, that was …”

Amodisia’s breathless words left a smile so big on his face that it hurt. It took her another moment to recover, turning around to face Amallia, who offered her coated fingers to her. The two men watched, Cullen’s mouth falling open and Alistair’s gaping further as Amodisia took Amallia’s two long fingers into her mouth all the way to the third joint.

Her tongue worked at her digits, that much Cullen could see on Amallia’s slackened face. Her hum of approval sent a twitch to his cock, and that regained Alistair’s attention, stroking the both of them in one massive hand. When Amallia’s fingers fell from Amodisia’s lips, she spoke.

“Sia, would mind returning the favor?” she asked as she drew the petite women into her arms.

Amodisia nodded. “I would love to,” she replied, voice so deep, Cullen hardly recognized it. Before he could spend more than a second on the thought, the two women atop him grasped one another and pulled each other in close for a deep, hard kiss.

“Cullen,” Alistair started as Amallia shifted back to his hips. “Are you … can I?”

The question struck him so odd, he didn’t know how to reply. Incessant and depraved need were the only things that gave him voice.

“Fuck me, Alistair,” he begged.

Once more, time slowed, crawling to a stop. His mind failed to keep up with everything occurring within the span of a heartbeat, the myriad sensations too many to comprehend. Amodisia lay atop him, her perfect ass and soaked cunt completely spread for him, her breasts brushing his skin, tantalizing and teasing. Amallia grasped his erection, rough and demanding. The swollen head of Alistair’s cock pressed between his cheeks, spreading him as he spread his wife, the tip of his own cock parting her lips, and then, _penetration_. Amallia sheathed him within her and Alistair buried himself within him.

Completely filled and filling, time raced to catch up, slamming home a wave of arousal he had never felt before. His guttural, groaning moan filled the room, and Alistair took that as his cue. Without warning, he withdrew and snapped his hips, repeating the motion and gaining furious speed immediately. And all Cullen could see was the sopping wet folds of Amodisia’s cunt and her tight asshole, unattended.

He corrected that in an instant. He buried his face between her cheeks, arms wrapping over her thighs and grasping her ass as his lips sealed around hers and his nose rubbed against the tight muscles above. When Amodisia cried out in surprise, it was muffled, and Cullen could see over the curves of her cheeks that her face was buried between Amallia’s thighs, jaw working in a furious rhythm as she sucked at her clit.

Alistair’s breakneck speed, thrusts so raw and rough, were difficult to match, but he did his best, thrusting into his wife when Alistair withdrew from him. Amodisia writhed atop him, squirming as he parted her lips, slipping to fingers into her cunt. Arousal dripped to his chest as he worked her flesh, thrusting in time with his hips, and tongue working her tight hole.

Their pleasure sounded in moans and sighs, grunts and growls, a chorus of lust to which no song compared. Amodisia’s high soft moans, muted against Amallia’s flesh, were the bright soprano, their melody. Amallia’s warm sighs, punctuated with each of his hard thrusts, were the soft alto, the countermelody. Cullen accompanied them with his growls and grunts, the baritone giving body to the piece. And Alistair’s long low groans were the bass, marking each phrase of their lovemaking.

“Mal,” Alistair groaned, “I … want to feel you.”

The raw need in his voice sent a heavy flex to Cullen’s cock, buried deep within Amallia and she felt it, crying out in surprise. A devilish smile hooked the corners of her lips as she eyed Cullen over Amodisia’s cheeks, and she reached out for the second condom on the pillow.

Alistair withdrew, Cullen whimpering at the sudden emptiness, though he knew what Alistair wanted, knew what he was about to do. He focused on Amallia’s face as best as he could, eyes wide with anticipation. She was so full already, his cock buried in her cunt, but she was about to learn a fullness that she had yet to experience.

Her eyes fluttered shut as Alistair parted her, fingers rubbing the muscles between her cheeks. Cullen slowed his thrusts to little rolls of his hips, wanting to keep her at the height of her arousal. Amodisia continued her ministrations at Amallia’s clit, and Cullen continued to stroke her walls, adding a third finger to fill her as he filled Amallia with his thick length.

Alistair leaned in close, his body flush with her back as he teased her ass with the head of his cock, his arm wrapped beneath hers to grasp a breast. Amallia shivered, bottom lip dragging through her teeth as she whimpered in anticipation.

“Ready, my dear?” Alistair whispered in her ear and with a devious grin, he looked to Cullen. When Amallia nodded, Alistair hummed his approval as he said, “Good. Cullen, I want you to know, I’m about to fuck your wife in the ass and I _cannot_ be held responsible for any preference she may have after this. I hope you understand, but I absolutely _must_ know what our lovely Amallia _feels_ like inside.”

“Fuck her,” he insisted as he parted from Amodisia, a matching grin on his lips. “But, _you_ should know, I’ll be disappointed if she doesn’t scream with her climax by the end of it.” Alistair moaned his agreement, and Amallia whimpered again, hands grasping Amodisia’s hair as her chest heaved.

Cullen watched the smooth roll of Alistair’s hips and Amallia’s eyes popped, her mouth falling open in a silent gasp. Her entire body seized, walls clenching around his cock as Alistair buried himself in her ass. Amodisia looked up, pausing at the sudden reaction.

Alistair whispered in her ear, coaching her along as he withdrew, slow rolls of his hips easing into her. And then she eased back, muscles softening, releasing, and Alistair smiled with a grin so pleased, Cullen knew he felt it, too.

“ _Fuck_ , that’s … different,” she gasped, “Oh, _Maker’s breath_ , is that different.”

Amodisia sat up, pressing the flat of her fingers against Amallia’s bud, rubbing in firm circles. Cullen resumed his thrusting, much slower to start as Alistair matched his pace. His wife’s eyes rolled shut once more as she grasped at herself, one hand at her unattended breast, the other reaching back for Alistair’s hip.

Over her shoulder, Amodisia flashed Cullen a smile as she spoke. “I wouldn’t mind the same _filling_.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice. He removed his three fingers from her soft pink flesh and rub the copious fluids around her hole, his free hand filling her cunt with three fingers again. One finger slipped into her ass with ease, and Amodisia shuddered with delight. The second finger was tighter, a little harder, but Cullen worked the muscle over until it relaxed before adding the third with a slow, gentle glide.

Again their moans combined, filling the room with their song. In short order, Amallia was riding the two men, Alistair kneeling on the bed between Cullen’s legs. And true to Alistair’s infatuation, he had both of her breasts in his hands, kneading the flesh as he rolled her pink taught buds between his fingers.

Cullen thrust into Amodisia as best as he could, matching Amallia’s rhythm. With her shifted higher over his head, he was able to tend to her bundle of nerves, lips sealed around it again as he licked, sometimes circles, and sometimes firm atop it, much to Amodisia’s pleasure.

Her short, gasping breaths returned, walls flexing around his fingers as her orgasm neared. He redoubled his efforts, fingers thrusting as fast as he could and tongue working her clit over until her body froze. She tried to maintain her hand at Amallia’s core, rubbing furious circles as her own orgasm consumed her, but she failed, hand dropping to the bed to support herself.

She cried out in ecstasy, body shuddering in release for the second time that evening. Cullen withdrew from her core, ready and eager to taste her quim in full, and it flowed into his mouth without missing a drop. Her taste, while not drastically different, was slightly smoother, softer than Amallia’s, not as strong or bold, but delightful all the same. He lapped up every bit that she gave him, sucking her lips clean and licking his own, not wanting waste such amazing pleasure.

The thought provoked a heavy flex of his cock, hard and throbbing within his wife. Amodisia’s end had shoved him so close to his own release, he teetered on the edge of no return. When Amodisia rose up from him, Alistair hunched over Amallia’s back, forcing her to her hands and knees.

Her lips crashed down upon his, teeth clicking in their haste to reconnect with one another. Her light, earthen scent filled his nose and his head spun at the sudden rush. When she broke away, Alistair was there, ready for him as his massive hand cupped him at the back of the head. The kiss he shared with the man was greedy, quick, and messy. Wet lips parted as Alistair reared back, rising up to resume his thrusting.

“Alistair,” Amodisia hummed from behind him. “Would you like …”

Over Amallia’s shoulder, Cullen saw Amodisia wiggle a few fingers at Alistair with such an impish smirk on her face, they both shivered. Alistair could only manage a nod, and Amodisia snatched up the bottle of lube from the desk.

Alistair didn’t wait for his wife to begin, thrusting into Amallia’s ass with renewed vigor. Amallia cried out her pleasure, muffed by Cullen’s chest and marked with every thrust. Cullen matched his speed and force, bodies slapping together as they worked to give each other the most pleasure possible. And then Alistair cried out in shock, looking over his shoulder at his wife who merely grinned back up at him.

“Wicked, _wicked_ , woman!” he cried out. “Who taught you to just shove your fingers in people’s butts like that!”

“You,” she shot back.

He slowed, a thoughtful look on his face that slowly faded to euphoria as Amodisia continued, slow, soft strokes of her fingers to relax him.

“That’s …” he muttered, eyes glazing over. “Yeah. Me.”

Amodisia’s girlish giggle returned, and, seeing he was too distracted by her ministrations, gave him a soft slap on one cheek.

“I don’t hear any screaming, you two,” she chided.

Cullen grinned, matching Amallia’s devious smile and blazing blue eyes. “She’s right. We thought we’d have turned you into a right mess by now.”

Amallia scoffed. “I’m made of sterner stuff than that,” she retorted. “Takes more than a couple cocks to ruin me.”

Cullen would never admit it was her plan all along to goad the two of them into fucking her as hard as they could, but he knew that was the truth. The moment the words left her mouth, Alistair grasped her by the hips and began to thrust so hard and so fast, Cullen thought he might hurt her.

But when Amallia did nothing but cry out her pleasure, he reveled in it, and joined Alistair at the same pace, hips pumping his cock into her as fast and as hard as he could. Over her shoulder, Cullen watched Alistair’s face warring between the pleasure he felt from two sources, Amallia’s tight hole enveloping him, and Amodisia’s fingers pounding his ass with an enthusiasm Cullen wanted to feel.

Another day.

For now, Cullen focused on his wife and his best friend, their sweating bodies atop his. It was a few short minutes at their rate that Alistair began to slow, body tensing and breath erratic as his orgasm found him in a sudden rush of pleasure. He hunched over Amallia’s back, the fingers of one hand biting into a breast as little spasms of his hips and his cock release his seed. Amallia cried out her pleasure, Cullen never slowing combined the heavy flexes of Alistair’s cock, so deep in her ass, it brought her to a swift end. She moaned with repeated shocks of pleasure from his orgasm, her own so very close.

The flexing continued for a minute before he sighed, withdrawing from her and removing the condom. Amodisia beamed up at him, smile wide as she said, “I felt that one.”

“Oh, I am sure you did,” he replied. “If her screaming was any indication, that was an … explosion.”

Amodisia hummed a soft laugh as she accompanied him back to the bed, lying beside them. When Amallia pressed a hand to his chest, his hips came to an abrupt halt and he growled, “What?”

Another devious grin curled her lips. “I need … I … Oh, _fuck,_ I need you behind me.”

In flurry of limbs, he obeyed, positioning Amallia against the wall at the head of the bed, pinning her there. Behind them Amodisia gasped, and Cullen glanced over to see Alistair atop his wife, her legs wrapped around his hips as he smothered her in a deep kiss.

He returned his attention to Amallia, her hips bucking against his to remind him why he was there. One hand wrapped over her hip to rub the sensitive bud at her apex, the other grasping her jaw as he turned her head.

“Spread your legs,” he demanded and she obeyed, knees gliding apart on the soft sheet. He hummed his approval once more, grasping his glistening cock and angling it between against her heat. With one smooth thrust, he was buried to the hilt again, bodies flush as he pinned her to the wall. His hand at her jaw flew to her wrist and pinned it against the wall high above her head as his thrusts picked up speed, bodies slapping together over and over again until it was the only sound in the room.

It took a few minutes, but they arrived at their end together, bodies shuddering and shivering with short breaths, gasping moans, and long, drawn sighs. Amallia whimpered with the pulses of his cock, the heavy flexes that preceded the hots spurts of his seed. When he came, she screamed, her own orgasm exploding so sudden as he filled her with his cum.

The aftershocks lingered for several minutes, Cullen collapsing as he sat back and Amallia fetched a washcloth from the nightstand. Cleaned, she tossed the rag across the room into the hamper, then flopped onto the bed, looking exhausted as he felt.

Alistair climbed up between them, entangling himself in Cullen’s embrace. Amallia curled in behind him, hand roaming along his body, and Amodisia followed her lead, falling in behind Cullen. The touch of her small frame against his back was a thrill of its own, full breasts against his back and light fingers tracing along his skin.

Legs entwined, the four lay in silence, breaths slow and deep as they lulled in the afterglow of their lovemaking. Alistair’s lips puckered, reaching out to kiss him on the nose, and Cullen laughed a soft sigh that summarized each of their feelings.

“I suppose I should have suggested we try this several months ago,” he said.

“Yeah,” was their unanimous reply and Alistair continued. “Although, it was quite funny watching you drive yourself insane, as if we would think you were some sort of disgusting pervert. We already _know_ you’re a disgusting pervert, but we are, too, so what does it matter?”

“Okay, that’s it, you’re in for it now,” Cullen retorted. “Mal? Go get it.”

Amallia, stunned and unmoving, simply stared at him over Alistair’s shoulder. “Are you sure?” she muttered.

“Absolutely.”

“Get what?” Alistair asked as she bounded away for the bathroom. “What are we doing?”

Cullen laughed a wicked laugh as Amallia returned with the strap on and dildo in hand. Alistair’s eyes widened and Amodisia squealed with glee, clapping like a giddy school girl. With a smirk, Cullen met Alistair’s aghast face, looking him in the eyes as he spoke.

“Round two.”


End file.
